


Situation Normal, All Fucked Up

by theonewiththelonghair



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Destroy Ending, F/M, Gen, Post-Mass Effect 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththelonghair/pseuds/theonewiththelonghair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Most of our systems are fried, y’know. Kaput. Kinetic barriers, sayonara. Thrusters? Forget it. And the drive core? HA. Its fucked. We’re fucked .”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situation Normal, All Fucked Up

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, Its been a while since I wrote anything! This started as just a project to get me back into writing, wipe off the cobwebs, y'know? So I challenged myself to just write something and throw it out there, no letting my self consciousness get in the way. But It turns out that I had a lot of fun working on it, and didn't absolutely hate what I had written. Still, me, not a great writer, very rusty, but I hope people enjoy!

“Most of our systems are fried, y’know. Kaput. Kinetic barriers, sayonara. Thrusters? Forget it. And the drive core? HA. Its fucked. We’re _fucked_.”

“You are being distinctly _Not Helpful_.”

“Hey, you asked for a status report. I gave you a status report. That's our status: _fucked_. Now, I’m not actually a tech expert, but I’m sure that Tali can back me up here. Right, Tali? Tell Lieutenant Commander Williams what you told me about how royally _fucked_ we are.”

“...Well, I--”

Lieutenant Commander Williams let out a harsh breath, holding a hand up to stop the Quarian. “Don’t. Listen up, you two. I don’t care how fucked you think we are. This is the Normandy SR-2, and we’ve seen it do a hundred impossible things before breakfast. Get her in the air, and get us home.”

Joker made an unhappy face, but shut his mouth.

“I’ll go check the drive core again.”

Tali made a quick escape, leaving Ashley and Joker alone in the small room. Ashley felt like she could choke on the tension in the air.

Fuck, she wasn’t cut out for this. She didn’t know how to deal with the crew the way Shepard had, didn’t know how to inspire boundless trust and confidence. Didn’t know how to make a small group of alien misfits feel like they could do the impossible.

 _What would Shepard do_?

She let the silence linger, just for a moment, watching out of the corner of her eye as Joker tinkered aimlessly with the Normandy’s controls. He looked worn out. Exhausted.  _Grieving_.

Now, Ashley could never pretend that she understood Jeff Moreau, or whatever weird fraternization thing he had going on with the AI. It was weird, it was freaky, and she couldn’t understand it. EDI had never really been alive, she thought, therefore she could never really _die_.

But she can imagine what it would be like, losing a person...a thing, that you might have loved. Losing the one entity that had always, _always_ been by your side, come hell or high water.

She swallowed thickly, squaring her shoulders, trying to radiate calm control.

“How’re you holding up?” She asked.

She watched him shift slightly, a shadow of a shrug.

“Think I only broke half my bones in the landing, so there's that.”

“You know that's not what I--”

He cast his eyes sharply in her direction. “I have a lot of work to do If you want this baby off the ground sometime in the next century.”

She really, really didn’t know how Shepard did this. She could feel the annoyance rising up in her chest already. All she was trying to do was help, talk him through things.

Deep, calming breaths.

She shook her head slightly, thinking _‘fuck what Shepard would do, I don’t have time for this.’_

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Its a relief to turn on her heel and walk out into the CIC proper. Her eyes skimmed across her surroundings, a cursory glance to check for unseen damages. It was a relief, but the deck looked so eerily quiet and empty that it almost hurt. All those empty stations, the spots where countless crew should have been standing. The huge empty spaces where the Galaxy Map and the holographic representation of the Normandy should have stood.

It was only a small comfort to know that they still had Traynor, at least. She would soon be back at her post, Ashley was sure of it. She couldn't see the other woman staying away from the CIC for very long. It had been a struggle to get her to make her way down to the Med Bay to see to the nasty head-wound she had gotten when they crashed. But Traynor had been instrumental in the latest retrofit of the Normandy's systems, when she was back on her feet she could get the comms back up, maybe, then they'd have _something_.

That's all Ash is asking for. Just... _something_.

Exhaustion was settling deep in her bones, and she ran her fingers softly over the smooth metal of the ships wall. She couldn't afford to give in to the urge to find a dark hole to crawl up in. She couldn't afford to wallow, none of them could.

They needed to stay strong. They needed hope. Just one tiny spark of hope. Just one more miracle. 

Everything is quiet and still as she walks through the ship. She knows, logically, that there are other people on board. Her teammates are here, even if they're no where near having a full crew. The few remaining crewmen that _were_ on board during the crash are in the Med Bay.

"What's the prognosis, Doc?" 

Chakwas was, as far as Ash was concerned, an impossible creature. She had survived extraordinary things, and only seemed to come out stronger on the other side. She had been there even when Ashley hadn't, on the Normandy, believing in Commander Shepard, trusting in her. 

Her eyes graze over Ashley when she walks into the Med Bay, and Ashley feels _lacking_. Like she should be ashamed for the times she had missed out on.

"A mild concussion from the impact. She's lucky. It should clear up soon, provided she takes things easy." 

Traynor gives Chakwas a sheepish smile, and the one she gets in return is warmer than anything Ashley has received in years. Ashley tries not to be jealous, she's a grown woman for gods sake.

"Don't worry, Doc. Nothing more strenuous than taking a look at our comms. I want to see if we can get them back online, see if we can hail anybody on the long range." 

Chakwas hums, softly, and Traynor slips down from the bed. 

"Lead the way, Lieutenant Commander. I'm itching to get my hands on them." 

Ashley gives her a nod. "Head on up, Traynor. I'll follow once I track down Vakarian." 

Traynor looks sad, briefly. And sheepish, casting her eyes up above her. "I think hes in the Commander's quarters. I mean...I'm not sure. Could be in the battery but...Well, its where I would go, Boss." 

She lets out a tired sigh, running her fingers through her hair. _Of course_. She'd almost forgotten, in the stress of the situation, that there was a possibility that there was more than one grieving man on the ship. 

She didn't think this was going to be easy.

* * *

 

Garrus feels like hes drowning. Its fitting, too. The soft, shimmering light coming from the wall to wall fish tank makes him feel like hes under water. He's never claimed to be a strong swimmer, not as strong as he could be, anyway. Not many chances to practice it on Palaven. 

He'd always thought that the way the light played across the Captains Quarters was calming, the same way Tali'Zorah did the hum of the engines. He couldn't count the amount of times he'd walked into engineering and found her dozing in the corner. She was always so embarrassed about it. Shepard thought it was _sweet_. 

The light doesn't feel calm now. 

He just keeps thinking, thinking, _thinking_.

Thinking: _The Reapers are dead. The Reapers are dead and Shepard killed them._

Thinking: _We might die here, like mice in a trap._

Thinking: _This is not the way things are supposed to be._

The way things had been down on earth, at the beam, all the races gathered together like sheep for the slaughter. What they had heard on the comms as the Normandy made its escape. Things didn't look too good, from where Garrus was standing. His hands curl into fists, talons sharp against skin. Worry and shame churn around inside his gut. Hell of a Turian he had turned out to be, running from the fight. Turians weren't supposed to just _give up_. Even after taking a rocket to the face, he'd gotten up a day later and joined right back in, hitting the collectors where it hurt. But he'd gone and...

... And Shepard could be dead.

Thats a thought he doesn't want to lose himself in. But there it is, running circles in his head, like a mocking drum beat. _Dead. Dead. Dead._

Shepard, in his head, when he'd first met her, was supposed to have been unbreakable, untouchable, immortal, a benevolent God to all she met. During that first fight, when they'd been all go with no time to think, all propelled by inertia and adrenaline, he couldn't imagine her ever losing a fight. They'd killed Saren, killed a Reaper, saved the Galaxy. But then there had been the collectors, and it turned out that if you space a God, she’ll die just like everyone else.

They all should have learned then, when Shepard had died. There's no such thing as immortal.

She could be dead, and he would have left her to it without even putting up much of a fight.

( “The worst part was being...alone.” She had said, the night before the Collector Base, voice shaking slightly as she recounted her death. She wouldn’t look at him. “I could feel every second of it, before I passed out. And the worst part was being alone.”

 _‘I don’t want to die alone again’_. She didn’t say it. But he’d heard it.

He’d rested one taloned hand on her back and nuzzled close, mandibles twitching against her cheek.

“You’ll never be alone again, Shepard.” He’d said. At the time it had been followed by swift embarrassment. He was still too new to this, too awkward in the grip of his own affection. So he’d tacked on a precursory, “Your whole team has your back, you know that.”

He remembers her smile, the one that said ‘ _hey, thanks for trying._ ’)

He closes his eyes, body thumbing with shame and guilt.

If she died, she died alone. And he'd promised to meet her at the bar. He could imagine her there, waiting, the same way she'd been on the Citadel, on their date, when they'd danced. He'd held her so close, and she'd been laughing by the end. For a second, lost in the memory, he smiles. 

But he might never dance with her again. 

She should have left him on the ground. Even if he'd died, he would have been able to keep his promise.

A _good_ Turian would have kept his promise. 

A dull thud is the only sound that fills the room when he leans his head back against the wall, letting his eyes close as the reflections of the water play across him.

He can't be sure how long he sits there, plagued by his own thoughts, by his own memories, by his own doubts. Long enough to almost, _almost_ doze off. 

When he hears the hiss of the door opening, he almost expects it to be Shepard walking through. Expects to hear her odd, human voice scolding him for falling asleep before she had gotten there. Expects to be able to open his eyes and see her peeling off the soft material of her over-shirt, exposing the pink fleshy body underneath. 

Its not her voice he hears.

"Sweet digs, Vakarian. Movin' in?" 

His heart clenches. 

"Thought I should survey the upper decks for structural weaknesses that might have been caused by the crash." He counters, unspeakably glad that she can't hear the sad, pitiful sub-vocals that accompany his words. He's under no allusions that she'll accept the flimsy try at an excuse. Given his position on the floor, propped against the wall, eyes shut, it was very clear what was going on. Still, couldn't blame him for trying. 

The fact that she was even in the room gave everything an uncomfortable edge, put him on the defensive, sharpened his senses. 

Grieving, on Palaven, was always an extremely private affair, when the time allowed for it. When his mother had died, his father had gone into seclusion for a week. 

All Garrus wanted was to be alone. (Or, more honestly, to not be alone. He wanted _Shepard_.) That, and to not have to deal with Ashley Williams. Everyone's favourite xenophobic Spectre. Yeah, that was exactly what he needed right now. 

She hummed, softly, in that grating human way. Shepard had used to make that sound when she was thinking something over. (It sounded more endearing, on Jane. Didn't make him want to claw his own ears off.) 

He heard the tapping of one of her fingers against the glass of the fish tank. His mandibles twitched in annoyance.

"Smart idea, scars. How's she holding up?"

"Better than could be expected." 

"Hm. Knew Joker was just being dramatic." 

His eyes opened, finally, adjusting quickly to the light. He has to loll his head to the side to get a comfortable look at her from his position. She looks back at him, tense, exhaustion written on every inch of her. 

"Not to sound...insubordinate, Lieutenant Commander, but was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?" 

His eyes are sharp enough to see the flash of uncertainty flit through her eyes. But she steels herself quickly, shoulders squaring, standing taller. 

"I need you and Vega to head out, scout the area. We don't want any more surprises today. Liara too, if you can pull her away from her terminals." 

He wants to say no. _No_ , I'm done. _No_ , I need time. _No_ , we should just give up. He wants to say no, because what's the point anymore. Their Commander is most likely dead, the love of his life gone forever. They lost their AI, their tech seemingly wiped out by some kind of...space magic. What was the _point_. 

But...He was a Turian. He might have been a bad Turian, but he was a Turian. And when a Turian is given an order, he carries it out. 

He pulls himself to his feet, grabbing his assault rifle from the bedside table. 

He could still follow an order. Maybe that was the point. 

 

 


End file.
